


The Laws Of Attraction: The Blind Banker

by Lady_J (Hey_Its_Jo)



Series: The Laws Of Attraction [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Detective, Mystery, Opposites Attract, the girl next door - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:55:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27944915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hey_Its_Jo/pseuds/Lady_J
Summary: Now settled into her new life with her aunt, Mrs. Hudson, Leanna Moore is learning what life with a consulting detective is like- never dull, that's for sure.  When she by chance runs into her new neighbours at a job interview for the Shad Sanderson bank, she is once again thrown into the world of Sherlock Holmes.Sequel to The Laws of Attraction (A Study in Pink).
Relationships: SherlockxOC
Series: The Laws Of Attraction [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2046467
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you've come from the first part of this story, then welcome back! It's great to see you again. I hope you enjoyed the last one, and I hope you'll enjoy the second installment. Thanks for popping in!
> 
> ~ J <3

Leanna stood in the middle of the spare room of her aunt's flat. _H_ _er_ bedroom, now. She gazed around the space that she had moments ago finished settling into; the bookshelf meticulously organized by alpha, the wardrobe where all her clothes hung in specific groups, her desk with not a paper or a pencil out of place. Yes, it was all to her satisfaction; straight lines, proportion and symmetry, just the way she liked it. Leanna sighed contently.

There was a gentle clunking as someone came down from upstairs. Leanna stepped out of her bedroom, closing the door softly behind her before walking out through the kitchen where Mrs. Hudson rummaged through cupboards. At the front entrance, John pulled on his jacket.

"I'm just going to the shop. Need anything while I'm out?" he asked, neighbourly.

"No, thank you. I think we're alright," Leanna said as she looked back to her aunt. She gave John a smile before he left 221.

"We must still have bread around here somewhere," Mrs. Hudson remarked as she opened the next cabinet, "I only just got some just a few days ago."

"Sorry," Leanna apologized, sighing, "It's in the next cupboard over. I did a bit of reorganizing."

Mrs. Hudson found the bread and Leanna retrieved various sandwich fillers from the refrigerator, which she had also reorganized. She began making their lunch as Mrs. Hudson filled a pitcher with water. Leanna pulled a third plate from an overhanging cupboard, setting a few of the sandwiches she was cutting aside. The other two plates were set at the table, the platter of sandwich quarters in between. She placed the other platter she'd made in the fridge. Leanna and her aunt sat themselves at the table and Mrs. Hudson poured water from the pitcher.

"I could teach you my system, for the cupboards," Leanna suggested.

"Thank you, dear, but you needn't bother; I'd just forget it anyway."

They laughed lightly and Mrs. Hudson drank her water as Leanna helped herself to the small sandwiches. Suddenly, there was a shout and a clatter from the flat upstairs, and Mrs. Hudson spilled the water she had been sipping into her lap.

"John's been gone not ten minutes and he's already breaking things!" Leanna exclaimed, pushing away from the table.

She climbed the stairs, walking up to the open door of the flat above. She screamed in surprise as Sherlock kicked a man, a swordsman dressed in exotic clothes, backwards off himself. He nearly took Leanna down with him as he tumbled back. The man whacked her over the head with the butt of his sword, and the next thing she knew was the floor as she came into contact with it. When her head cleared and the floorboards came again into focus, she heaved herself up in time to see the intruder toss Sherlock aside and bend him back over the kitchen table, pressing the blade of his sword against his neck.

Lunging forward in a panic, Leanna grabbed a plate off the table and smashed it over the man's head. It broke in her hands, the pieces clattering to the floor. While he was dazed, Sherlock pushed him off and dodged his lazy punches easily — he seemed a little dizzy.

"Look!" Sherlock shouted, pointing in the direction of the fireplace. Caught off guard, the robed man swung his head around to look, and Sherlock decked him square in the face. He fell backward onto Sherlock's chair in a heap of loud fabric, unconscious, his sword clanging on the floor where it slipped from his hand. Leanna put the remains of the broken plate on the table again.

"Good shot," Sherlock complimented.

"Thanks. But I've got to admit, I looked when you pointed."

They both smiled and laughed a little, out of breath.

"How's your head?" he asked, trying his best at concern.

"Fine, I think."

She still felt a little dizzy when she moved it too quickly, and she suspected she would have a headache in a few hours, but she decided that she would be alright.

Leanna made her way down the stairs again, her appetite suddenly gone, replaced by adrenaline. Yet still she thought that her glass of water might do her good, so she sipped at it while her aunt chatted away, now changed into dry clothes.

<><<>><>

Leanna and Mrs. Hudson both jumped where they stood at the sink, washing the dishes, as the door to 221 slammed. John came in, grumbling, and walked heavily up the stairs. Leanna tried to greet him, but he ignored her.

"I wonder what's gotten into him," Mrs. Hudson remarked.

"I don't know. I thought he was supposed to have the groceries."

Leanna realized that he wasn't carrying a single bag. This made her remember the sandwiches in the fridge, made for such an occasion as this, as she'd anticipated. She dried her hands of the dishwater they'd been soaked in and retrieved the platter from the refrigerator, headed from the kitchen and back up the stairs to the flat John shared with the consulting detective.

"...it sat there and I shouted abuse. Oh, hello Leanna." She walked into the middle of their conversation, Sherlock sitting in the chair previously occupied by a murderous swordsman. Leanna briefly wondered what Sherlock had done with him. "Have you got cash?"

"Take my card," his flatmate offered with a smile. Leanna followed John into the kitchen.

"What's that?" Sherlock asked Leanna skeptically.

"It's food. You eat it. Or you die," she explained, holding up the plate of sandwiches for him to see before she placed them in their refrigerator.

"You could always go yourself, you know." John suggested, still miffed. "You've been sitting there all morning and not even moved since I left."

Leanna's eyes caught Sherlock's, and they exchanged a sort of smirk as he crossed his legs, sliding the man's sword further under his chair.

"What about that case you were offered, the Jaria Diamond?"

"Not interested. I sent them a message." He went back to his reading.

John sighed, picking up Leanna's bit of broken plate and examining it in curious annoyance before leaving the flat to get his shopping, this time with Sherlock's card. Leanna glanced at her watch. Twelve forty-three. She too had to be leaving if she was going to get downtown by one o'clock.

"I need to head out, too." She headed to the stairs before turning back to Sherlock, "And try not to harass Mrs. Hudson while I'm gone. Remember, she's not your housekeeper."

"Isn't she?" He responded, not looking up from his book. Leanna glided downstairs, grabbing her jacket and purse, slipping them on as she walked out the door.

<><<>><>


	2. Chapter 2

The man sitting at his desk across from Leanna looked over her resume again. He made a skeptical clicking noise with his tongue as he swiveled back and forth in his chair, taking his time as he read and occasionally lifting his gaze to examine her over the top. Leanna rolled her shoulders and folded her hands as she tried not to look too nervous. She unfolded her hands again.

"Well, Miss Moore, you have a good resume, and you seem qualified enough. So, why do you think the Shad Sanderson bank should hire you?" the man asked as he sat forward in his seat, his eyes burning through her. In his expensive suit and posh haircut, the middle aged, medium build man himself didn't intimidate Leanna; it was the way he sneered and looked down his nose that psyched her out.

"Um," she stammered, suddenly forgetting all she had mentally rehearsed on the tube over, "I'm very organized — and I mean _very_. I'm efficient and thorough, and I think secretarial work would be a perfect fit for me."

The man nodded slowly, pursing his lips as he scratched notes onto her resume with his pen. Without warning, he stood quickly and Leanna scrambled to her feet, trying to stay on top. He extended his hand over his desk and she took it, shaking it professionally.

"I think this interview went well," he exclaimed, and Leanna breathed a sigh of relief. "Of course, I cannot make any executive decisions myself, so we will get back to you." He walked her to the door of his office, holding it open for her. He continued to speak as they walked.

"You do seem highly capable and motivated. I agree you would make an excellent secretary."

Just then, a tall man came around the corner in front of her, nearly knocking her over. Tall, with dark hair, icy blue eyes and his signature jacket.

"Sherlock?"

"Leanna?"

"Leanna?" She heard her name and looked over to see John. Of course, where one was the other wasn't far behind.

"John? What are you two doing here?"

"I'm on a case," Sherlock answered her, "What are you doing here?"

"Job interview. For a secretary."

"Miss Moore conducted a very good interview," the man who held her resume stated. Sherlock chuckled a little to himself.

"What is it?" her interviewer asked him, his smile quickly dropping and his brow pinching in the middle.

"Oh, it's nothing. I'm just surprised she did so well."

"Sherlock," She tried to stop him, but he blundered on.

"She suffers from chronic shyness and social awkwardness. She has yet to develop the proper coping mechanisms for being around people."

"Oh, really?" the man said, casting Leanna a side-ward glance as he made a final note. "Thank you for your time, Miss Moore. Good luck in your... future endeavours," he said, smiling tightly. She watched as he walked away and deflated; he had basically just told her there was no way he'd ever hire her.

"Sherlock!" she said once he was out of earshot. "Why did you have to go and say that?" She was trying very hard to remain calm.

"What are you so upset about? It was true."

Leanna was baffled that he could be so oblivious — even John was giving him a look of disappointment. But of course, Sherlock would be the last to notice. He almost sounded a little annoyed by her reaction.

"Just because something is true, doesn't mean it has to be said. And that just blew my whole interview!"

"Oh, I did you a favour. Secretary — boring job."

"Yeah, but it was a boring job that I needed."

"Well, you can't win them all. Case. Now. Come," he ordered. Leanna sighed, stuffing down her anger. Now was not the time to give Sherlock Holmes a dose of reality, and he was right — they had a case.

"See there?" he pointed across the room, to where Leanna saw a painting with yellow smeared across it; she guessed that it wasn't supposed to be there. "Someone broke in last night and left the graffiti — message, perhaps — and were gone in under sixty seconds."

The three of them walked into the office where the painting hung. No one spoke as Sherlock took pictures on his phone and looked about the room, deducing it with clues only he could see. John stood by the door with his hands in his pockets, looking idly around while Leanna did the same by the window. She had her arms folded over her chest as she looked down upon London. It seemed peaceful from up above.

"Don't move."

She heard Sherlock's deep voice and looked over to where he stood. He was looking at her, his eyes intense, and Leanna opened her mouth to speak but no words came. He walked up to her, looking her over, and then he turned to the window and looked out it just as she had been. She and John watched as he opened the blinds, and Leanna followed as he walked out onto the balcony.

"And all the doors lock as soon as they're closed, yeah? I saw the key cards."

He didn't answer her, yet this was almost an answer in itself. _When God closes a door, he opens a window_.

The two came back inside. Sherlock proceeded out onto what was called the Trading Floor, and she watched with John as he ducked out of view. All the others seemed to notice and watched in curious intrigue as he popped back up again. He repeated this several times, and Leanna followed him back, apologizing to some of the people as they went.

Finally, he reached one of the backmost offices, and when she turned, she could just see the painting with the yellow over the eyes. Sherlock pulled the name off the door.

"Got it." He showed her — the office belonged to one Edward Van Coon.

"Not many of those in the phone-book," she commented as they grabbed John and headed to the elevators.

"So, do you think we should sniff around here for a bit longer?" he asked. Sherlock didn't break his brisk pace.

"Got everything I need to know, thanks. That graffiti was a message. Someone at the bank, working on the trading floors. We find the intended recipient..."

"They'll lead us to the person who sent it," John finished. "There were over three hundred people up there."

"Pillars," Sherlock answered with one word.

"What?"

"The pillars and screens," Leanna continued for him. "There are very few places you could see that graffiti from."

"And, of course," Sherlock went on, "the message was left at eleven thirty-four last night. Traders come to work at all hours. Some trade with Hong Kong in the middle of the night. That message was meant for somebody who came in at midnight."

"That man traded with Hong Kong," Leanna said, referring to the man whose name was in Sherlock's pocket as she remembered what it had said on his office door. She hadn't realized it was important until now.

"Sorry, what man?" John asked, not following.

"Not many Van Coons in the phone-book."

Sherlock showed John the name slip and hailed a taxi. Leanna fought the urge to blush as he quoted her.

<><<>><>

John, Sherlock and Leanna stood in front of a large condo complex, Sherlock buzzing the button beside the name Van Coon. Their buzz was not met with an answer.

"So, what do we do now?" John asked. "Sit here and wait for him to come back?"

Leanna would have settled for _try again tomorrow_ , but as usual, the detective's mind had brighter ideas.

"Just moved in. Floor above — new label." He pointed to the makeshift label of white paper and the name Wintle scrawled in blue pen.

"Could have just replaced it," John suggested. Sherlock buzzed the Wintles next.

"No one ever does that."

A few moments later, a woman's voice came out of the speaker.

_"Hello?"_

"Hi, um, I live in the flat just below you. I don't think we've meet." Sherlock lied fluently. _How hard it must be_ , Leanna thought, _for him to sound like such an idiot._

" _No, I've just moved in_."

So Sherlock was right, but that was nothing new.

"Actually," he continued, "I've just locked my keys in my flat." He pretended to sound embarrassed.

" _Do you want me to buzz you in_?"

"Yeah. And can I use your balcony?"

" _What_?"

Leanna rolled her eyes at Sherlock.

"Do you know what?" John asked, "I think I'll just let you buzz me in."

"Suit yourself," Sherlock said as he entered the building. Leanna scrambled after him.

Minutes later, Leanna stood on a balcony several floors high, looking back at the woman to whom it belonged. She stood watching, baffled in the doorway. Sherlock, who was already below, called up to her impatiently.

"Oh, come on, Leanna!" he shouted from the lower balcony, Van Coon's balcony. "You're not afraid of heights!"

He said this matter-of-factly, and Leanna couldn't imagine how he could possibly have deducted it from her. But it was true — heights didn't phase her. Only throwing herself off balconies.

"Just grab on to the edge and swing your weight around!"

Leanna did as she was told, grabbing hold of the edge and swinging one leg over so that she straddled it, then the other. Now that she was dangling precariously over the edge, all that was left was for her to let go. She squeezed her eyes shut and let her hands slide away. Her feet made first contact, slamming against the concrete, then her tailbone as she fell backwards. She gasped as the air was knocked out of her lungs and blinked against the stars that twinkled in her vision as she smacked her head off the concrete below her.

"Next time, keep your centre of gravity around your middle and you'll have a much cleaner landing," Sherlock advised.

"Next time, just go through the front door."

Without helping her up, Sherlock went to the back door. It had been left unlocked. Following with a slight limp now, she went inside; it was a nice flat, furnished stylishly with several antiquities on display here and there. They looked Chinese, if she was correct.

" _Sherlock? Sherlock, are you okay_?" John buzzed the doorbell, but Sherlock ignored him as he walked through the flat — books about antiques, a fully stocked fridge, bread and butter for breakfast and a coffee mug to the left of the sofa, " _Yeah, any time you feel like letting me in..._ " John was beginning to sound annoyed.

They came upon a set of double doors, leading most likely to the bedroom. It was strange that they would be locked. Sherlock broke them open, and Leanna couldn't seem to help but blush as he threw his weight against them. The first sight Leanna saw was the bed.

Upon it lay a man, fairly young and dressed in a well-tailored suit. The only objects out of place were gun in his hand and a bullet through his head. So, this was Edward Van Coon; a dead man. Leanna pulled out her mobile and dialed the police.

<><<>><>


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy Sherlock being a clueless jerk and getting on Leanna's last nerve!

Leanna strode around the flat as the people in blue jumpsuits turned it over. The Detective Inspector — Dimmock was his name — had made her put the same pair of rubber gloves as they all wore. Perhaps he'd lost a lot of money, perhaps his girlfriend broke up with him, perhaps both. Her mind kept swirling around as she attempted to deduce something, anything. But she was no Sherlock.

She sat on the sofa, watching as they rooted through Van Coon's belongings. She supposed she should do something to help, instead of being idle, so she picked up the pen and pad of paper from the ottoman in front of her, flipping through it to see if there were any notes that might give them any information.

Then, she stopped. Leanna looked from the pen to the pad and back again. She switched hands so the pen was in her right, then back to the left where it had originally been.

"Sherlock!" she called. After a few moments, he and John appeared from the bedroom, following Dimmock. Sherlock removed his gloves.

"What is it? Have you found something?"

"Where did the bullet go in?" she asked.

"The right side of his skull."

"But, then he couldn't have shot himself, because Van Coon was left-handed."

"Left-handed?" Dimmock asked, not seeing the pattern.

"Yeah," she explained, "I picked up the paper and pen, and the pen was positioned to be picked up by the left, so he could write."

"Oh, of course," Sherlock clued in. "Yes, of course! Coffee table on the left, coffee mug handle pointing to the left, power sockets — habitually used the ones on the left. There's a knife on the breadboard with butter on the right side of the blade because he used it with his left. It's highly unlikely that a left-handed man would shoot himself in the right side of his head. So, it wasn't suicide," he concluded.

"It was murder." Leanna felt a rush inside her, a surge of adrenaline. "Is this what it's like, being in your head?" she asked Sherlock. "It's quite exciting."

"Isn't it?" he responded pridefully.

"And the gun?" Dimmock asked, trying to poke a hole in their theory.

"He was waiting for the killer. He'd been threatened," Sherlock explained.

"Today at the bank. Sort of warning," John continued.

"Wait until you get the ballistics report. The bullet in his brain wasn't fired from his gun, I guarantee it," Sherlock told him, pulling on his jacket, scarf and gloves.

"If the door was locked from the inside, how did the killer get in?"

"Good," Sherlock told Dimmock, "you're finally asking the right questions."

He sounded ticked. Leanna watched as his gaze moved past Dimmock to the door which she had first followed Sherlock in.

"Leanna," he suddenly grabbed her arm, dragging her backwards, and she let out a yelp of surprise. He positioned her in front of the door and took a step back, looking at the picture in front of him. He pulled out his phone and snapped a shot.

"What's all this for?" she asked him, blushing as he took her picture. Sherlock ignored her and walked out the front door. John just shrugged and followed him from the flat. She joined them on the streets.

"I'll meet up with you later," she told them as she walked off, hailing a cab of her own to take her back to Baker Street.

<><<>><>

Leanna had returned to Baker Street, but she had not gone back to her flat. She had instead walked into the restaurant next door to 221, for another interview. She now found herself balancing four different plates on her way from the kitchen; a trial run, her new boss had told her, or, he would be her boss if the remaining two hours of her shift went well.

He shadowed her from a distance as she delivered the plates of food to a table near the back of the restaurant. A family of three.

"The salad for you, ma'am — dressing on the side. The turkey sandwich for you, sir, and the chicken fingers and chips for you, little lady," she said, placing the smallest of the plates in front of the little girl. "And your extra order of chips."

She set down the last plate and glanced hopefully at her boss, who gave her a reassuring smile. Leanna heaved a sigh of relief — a little too soon. Her mobile went off in her back pocket.

"I'm so sorry," she apologized to the family as she took it out and pressed the ignore button to silence it as she looked at the Caller I.D. — _Sherlock Holmes_.

"Oi, Leah!" Todd, her boss, waved her over. "That's the third time today."

"I know, sir. I'm so sorry, it's just, my... friend... won't stop calling me."

"Just make sure it doesn't happen again, or your shift might end a little early."

She nodded as he walked away, and she muted her phone. As she did so, she noticed her messages — three missed calls and eighteen texts, all from Sherlock. If he was so desperate to contact her, Leanna debated texting him back; but she knew that would get her fired immediately. Quickly, while no one was watching, she read over some of the messages.

_-Van Coon lost 5M quid in a day and_

_Made it back in a week. Did I tell u that already??_ 11:03 A.M

_-How did he come up with 5M in a single week?_ 11:05 A.M

_-Could you pass me a pen?_ 11:17 A.M

_-There was a journalist shot dead in his flat_

_last night. Door locked windows bolted like Van_

_Coon_ 11:34 A.M

_-They're calling it 'the intruder_ _Who can walk_

_through walls.'_ _Read the online article_ 11:35 A.M

_-John still hasn't passed me a pen..._ 11:50 A.M

_-Leanna? R u there?_ 12:21 P.M

_-Why aren't u texting back??_ 12:39 P.M

_-I'll call u_ 12:44 P.M

That would be the first call. She scrolled down and continued reading.

_-The victim was Brian Lukis. Did_ _u read_

_the article like I said?_ 12:56 P.M

_-Come to Scotland Yard_ 1:11 P.M

_-Where are you? Txt back_ 1:17 P.M

Why was the great detective so eager to hear from her? She would have thought that John would have been company enough. But then again, if John had left, Leanna hated to think of Sherlock on his own. She read the last of his messages.

_-John and I headed to Lukis'_

_flat would u like the address?_ 1:31 P.M

_-The windows in Van Coon's_

_flat and the bank- that's how the_

_Murderer got in!!_ 1:58 P.M

_-And he used the skylight in Lukis'_

_flat - the killer can climb! This_

_changes it_ 2:00 P.M

_-I was just really clever. Why r_

_u still not responding?_ 2:12 P.M

_-W Kensington Library. Come_ 2:15 P.M

"Oi, Leanna! Get back to work! You've got customers waiting!" Todd yelled at her from the kitchen. "Come and get this order, table five."

"Yes, sir. Sorry." Once he'd left, she turned back to her mobile.

_-Found cipher at the library._

_Same as on the painting in the_

_bank_ 2:52 P.M

And since then, two more calls. Looking over her shoulder and making certain she wouldn't get caught, she started typing.

_That's good. I can't talk now, I'm -_

_working at the diner beside 221. My shift_

3:19 P.M _ends at 5 p.m._

Leanna hit send as she headed to the kitchen where table five's order sat in wait. She dropped it off and seated an arriving couple, apologizing for the wait. She took their order.

No sooner had she walked out of the kitchen with a pot of coffee, she spotted their next customer, coming through the door. Sherlock Holmes, in the flesh this time. She poured the couple their coffee.

"What do you want?" She asked Sherlock, sourly. She knew this was not going to end well for her.

"Leanna, that's no way to talk to a customer," Todd shouted from the back.

"It's alright, Todd, this is just my friend. The chatty one." She shot the detective an icy look as she said this.

"The killer can climb — that's how he gets in, by scaling the walls. And the victims don't even realize until it's too late. They feel safe once they've locked the door."

He followed her in as she led him to a vacant table. He sat.

"I know. I got your messages. All of them."

"Did you? Why didn't you message back?"

"Because I'm working."

"What are you doing that for?" He furrowed his eyebrows comprehensively, and Leanna just sighed and turned back towards the kitchen.

"I've got to pay my bills somehow, Sherlock. And seeing as you blew my last interview, I really need this one."

She kept walking, continuing to do her job and hoping he would pick up. He followed insistently.

"Well, if you want to help on this case, you have to at least bother to show up. I could have used another set of eyes."

Leanna stopped and faced him, now, in disbelief that he would turn this around and blame her.

"I never said I wanted to help, it just sort of happened. And Sherlock Holmes doesn't need anyone, you just like to have an audience."

"Leanna!" Todd called from behind the counter, "don't have it out in front of the customers! One more strike, and you're out."

"See what you've done?" she hissed at Sherlock. She stalked off to the kitchen to give Todd more orders. Sherlock followed her back, pushing through the swinging doors.

"Why are you so upset about the interview?"

"Deduce it, Sherlock."

"Oh, come on, why would you want to be a secretary?" he asked, making light of it.

"Because I needed a job. I'm not your pet that comes when you call and fetches your paper." She slammed down her order pad.

"Leanna, did you let him back here?" Todd asked. "Customers aren't allowed back."

"I was just telling him to get out." She gave him a hard glare.

"And you're letting this food here get cold." Todd pointed to a plate of fish 'n' chips that sat in wait. "First the mobile, then you have a row in the middle of the restaurant, and now you're neglecting your customers. Miss. Moore, I don't think this arrangement is going to work out. Hand in your apron."

"Todd, please," she started her defense, but her he wouldn't hear it.

"I said give it here."

He held out his hand, and grudgingly, Leanna untied the apron from around her waist and handed it over. Grabbing her coat and purse, she pushed past Sherlock and left the restaurant in a huff. She couldn't believe he'd lost her another job, and she couldn't believe how he didn't understand her predicament. For a genius, he sure could be an idiot.

<><<>><>


	4. Chapter 4

Water sloshed up Leanna's arms as she stood at the sink in the flat above hers, washing the dishes of Sherlock and John. Sherlock stood at the fireplace, above which was pinned all his clues, as Leanna vigorously scrubbed the congealed grime from the plates in the other room. Neither of them spoke, just the splashing of soapy water to fill the silence.

Suddenly, the front door slammed shut downstairs. The thudding on the stairs grew louder until John finally entered the flat. Leanna couldn't help but notice how miffed he looked.

"Where've you been?" she asked, looking at him over her shoulder.

"Well, you know, custody sergeants don't like to be rushed, do they?"

He was obviously annoyed, staring at Sherlock as if he wished to slap him. This was nothing new.

"Custody?" Leanna asked, ceasing her aggressive scrubbing as her interest piqued.

"Fingerprints, charge sheets, and I've got to be in magistrate's court on Tuesday. Me, Sherlock. In court, on Tuesday. They're giving me as ASBO!"

"Good. Fine, Sherlock replied absently.

"Fine?" Leanna repeated frustratedly. She dried her hands on a dish towel and joined them.

"You can tell your little pal he's welcome to go and own up anytime."

"Who are we talking about? What happened?" she asked, her arms folded and her brows raised. She, as usual, was ignored.

"The symbol, I still can't place it." Sherlock gave a frustrated huff as he slammed the book in his hands shut. John walked into the flat, taking off his jacket, but Sherlock stopped him.

"No, I need you to go to the police station to ask about the journalist. Get hold of his diary, or something that would tell us of his movements."

"I'll go with you," Leanna suggested, grabbing her coat. She trailed after the two of them as they went out to the streets.

"If we retrace their steps, somewhere they'll coincide," Sherlock continued, starting down the street.

"I guess that means we'll see you later," she muttered as John hailed them a taxi. The cabbie flashed his blinker and pulled over to the curb, John directing him to Scotland Yard before climbing in.

"So," Leanna began, now that things had quieted, "what happened today?"

John sighed heavily, as if he'd rather not remember.

"Sherlock met some kid to ask about paint, the paint on the picture at the bank. Police showed up and they both ran, leaving me holding the spray paint."

Leanna shook her head as John recounted, marveling at the thickness of such an intelligent man. Then, she started to laugh.

"What?" John asked, confusedly and offended. "It's not funny."

"No, it isn't," Leanna replied, still chuckling. Slowly, a smile spread across John's lips, and he began to laugh as well. Suddenly, her mobile dinged, and she stopped laughing.

"Who's that?" John asked.

"Sherlock," she told him, her brow furrowing as she read the message.

_-Van Coon delivered a package to_

_Piccadilly the day he died S.H_ 5:23 P.M

5:24 P.M _I'm not texting you, Sherlock. -_

She grumbled as she made her reply, and John smirked knowingly.

"Are you mad at him, too?"

"I had a trail run at the diner next to 221, but he managed to ruin that, as well, as only he could. And he doesn't even know why I'm upset." Her mobile dinged again, cutting her off.

_-By texting me to state the fact that you are_

_not texting me, you are, in fact, texting me._ 5:25 P.M

It wasn't long before they reached Scotland Yard, and John paid the cabbie. They entered and were stopped at reception.

"Excuse me," the woman behind the desk waved them over, "pedestrians aren't allowed up."

"We know. We're here to see D.I. Dimmock. We're on the Van Coon case," John told her, and she waved them through. Leanna caught the skeptical gaze she cast after them.

<><<>><>

"This is the place," John said, glancing between the diary in his hands and the crowded street they were on, right smack in the middle of Chinatown, London. "He wrote an address..."

Leanna peered over John to see the pages of Lukis' diary: Garnier street, which was where they were now. She looked up, scanning the street.

"John, there, look, across the street," she pointed. John followed, finding the little shop. It was odd, she thought, as this shop didn't appear to be anything special.

"Come on."

John grabbed her by the arm, the two of them hurrying down the busy sidewalk. Through the mid-day crowds, neither of them noticed the tall, dark-haired man in a trenchcoat, headed their way; that was, until John walked straight into him.

"Umphf!"

"Sherlock," Leanna exclaimed.

"Eddie Van Coon brought a package here the day he died."

Her neighbour ignored her as he jumped straight into the debrief. "I've managed to piece together a picture using scraps of information; credit card bills, receipts. He flew back from China, then came here-"

"Sherlock —"

"Somewhere in this street, somewhere near. I don't know where, but —"

"That shop, over there." John pointed to the place Leanna had located. Admittedly, she relished the look of confusion on Sherlock's face; he was not used to being told.

"How could you tell?"

"Lukis' diary. He was here, too. He wrote down the address."

"Oh," was all Sherlock could say. Leanna followed followed John as he jaywalked across the street, leaving her other neighbour to trail behind.

The only sound as they entered the shop was the click of the door and the jingle of the bell. John was the first the break the silence, quietly greeting the shop owner, a trim Asian woman with a thin face and her hair cut short. Leanna tried not to laugh as the woman attempted to sell him a Lucky Cat for his wife.

"No, thank you," he said, smiling to her as he continued perusing.

"For your wife, then." Sherlock gave a look near shock as she addressed him, next. "She will like."

Sherlock's shocked expression was reflected on Leanna's face as the woman gestured in her direction. The two of them looked between each other, and she couldn't help but notice John's smirk.

"I'm not his wife."

"Nor will she ever be, " Sherlock concluded. Hurt gave a sudden tug at her stomach; perhaps "ever" wasn't the proper word. Although she knew it was true, she did not know why it bothered her so.

She meandered through the small shop, cluttered with objects from the woman's home, and all quite beautiful. There were several fans that hung on the wall, and she selected one; it was white, with pink cherry blossoms and little green accents that were delicate leaves. Leanna held it up in front of her face, peering over the top.

Her gaze swept across the shop and all its trinkets, and her breath hitched in her chest as she noticed that he was already looking at her. Her warm hazel eyes caught on his cold, greyish-blue ones. The intensity of his gaze froze her in place, and she felt as if the air had been knocked out of her lungs. Then she looked away, hiding the blush that had formed on her face behind the fan.

She looked down at the elegant object, searching for a price. She located it, and he heart skipped a beat.

"John," she whispered to him across the room, "the price tags."

He picked up a small white teacup, painted with blue details, and turned it over.

"Sherlock," John called to his flatmate, who put down his statuette to join him, "the label, there."

"Yes, I see it."

"It's exactly the same as the cipher." John cleared his throat, looking over his shoulder. "Good eye, Leanna."

She looked up, startled by the recognition which she was so unaccustomed to receiving. She saw Sherlock raise his head.

"Leanna?" His tone betrayed disbelief that the shy girl who roomed below him had actually turned out to be helpful. He addressed her hesitantly. "Yes, good eye."

As he ushered the two of them out of the shop, Leanna wasn't sure whether she should be flattered by Sherlock's or insulted by his surprise. She blushed nonetheless, wishing she could hide behind the fan and hoping that the cold London air would erase the redness of her cheeks.

They hurried through the streets, taking refuge in a dim Chinese restaurant. Leanna smirked as Sherlock requested a table for three, remembering the first time she'd accompanied him to a restaurant. They sat, John eagerly looking over the menu while Sherlock stared blankly ahead. Leanna looked between the two of them.

"Two men travel back from China, both head straight for the Lucky Cat emporium. What did they see?" John thought aloud.

"It's not what they say, it's what they both brought back in those suitcases. Think about Van Coon, how he stayed afloat in the market."

"Lost five million."

"Made it back in a week. That's how he made such easy money." 

"He was a smuggler," John said in an _aha_ moment. Leanna sat forward on her elbows, joining in the conversation, connecting the dots.

"Yes, I reckon he would have been perfect for it; business man, making frequent trips to Asia. Lukis was the same; a journalist, writing about China. Both of them smuggled stuff about."

"The Lucky Cat was their drop off."

"But," John wasn't appeased, "why did they die? It doesn't makes sense. If they both turn up and deliver the goods, why would someone threaten and kill them after they'd finished the job?"

Sherlock sat back, and Leanna saw him smirk as his big brain processed clues only he could see. But, Leanna leaned back with a smirk as well as it dawned on her, voicing what they both knew.

"One of them had lights fingers."

"Stole something from the hoard," Sherlock finished.

"And the killer doesn't know which of them took it, so he threatens them both."

A moment of silence fell upon them as John took another forkful of his lunch. Sherlock sat, staring out the window, examining the street beyond. Leanna sat forward in curiosity as she watched his expression change — he'd found something.

"Remind me," Sherlock began, "when was the last time that it rained?"

"Monday..." Leanna responded, following him hurriedly as he pushed away from the table and made for the door. John took one last mouthful of food before following the pair of them with an exasperated sigh and a roll of his eyes.

The two of them followed the detective across the street to a small door; the entrance to somebody's home. He knelt, thumbing the damp edges of a Yellow Pages that sat on the stoop. Leanna eyed the name of the owner, the "I" dotted with a little flower.

"Soo Lin Yao."

"It's been here since Monday. No one's been in that flat for at least three days," Sherlock said before giving a long ring of the doorbell. There was no answer. Sherlock led them the way down a damp alley next to the flat.

"Could have gone on holiday..." John suggested as he scrambled after. Sherlock looked up at the flat.

"Do you leave your windows open when you go on holiday?"

Leanna looked up to see the open window, the curtains behind it swishing gently. Sherlock took a running start, jumping for the fire escape ladder. It came down with a groan. He began pulling himself up towards the open window. Without thinking, Leanna followed, leaving John on the ground.

"Sherlock!" She heard him call through the metallic groan of the ladder as it pulled itself back up, leaving him stranded. For a moment, Leanna felt a stab of guilt for having abandoned him, but it paled in comparison to the rush of adrenaline that was taking hold as she climbed after Sherlock Holmes. He was already inside as she reached the window, poised in a kneeling position in the frame. She watched as he caught a vase, which he'd clearly knocked over upon his entrance.

"Someone else has been here," he called for John to hear. Leanna was careful to avoid the vase as she climbed down, noticing the wet patch on the rug. "Somebody else broke into the flat and knocked over the vase, just like I did."

He began searching the small space. He stooped and sniffed the laundry in the washing machine, fingered a length of quilt — white with blue flowers — draped over a tall mirror, and examined the contents of the fridge. Leanna watched him gag over the milk that had obviously gone off. All the while, John ran the doorbell.

"Do you think maybe you could let me in this time?" she heard him shout.

"I'm not the first!" Sherlock yelled back. Leanna saw him remove his magnifying glass from a pocket of his trenchcoat, examining the floor through the threshold into the next room. "Size eight feet... small, but athletic."

He kept moving about the flat, Leanna following a few paces behind. In all honesty, she hadn't a clue what to do with herself. She simply shadowed Sherlock, examining the belongings of Soo Lin Yao with her eyes. John kept ringing the bell, but his flatmate ignored him as he took the magnifying glass to a small photograph next; a picture of two young children.

"Small, strong hands... our acrobat." He put the frame down, flipping the small magnifier shut and returning it to his pocket. Leanna watched him as he talked to himself. "But why didn't he close the window when he left?... Oh, stupid, stupid!"

A look of understanding dawned on his face, and it passed across Leanna's as well. Her stomach twisted into a knot.

"Open window... the rug, still wet..."

"He's still here."

She watched him intently as his eyes flitted about the room. They came to rest on the privacy screen in the corner, where the assailant must be hiding. Her heart skipped a beat as he slowly approached it.

"Sherlock, we should get out of here," she whispered. She was ignored. Her heart beat faster by the second as he reached out his gloved hand.

"Come on, Sherlock..."

He grabbed the screen, pulling it away. Nothing. A sigh of relief escaped Leanna. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flicker of movement.

"Sherlock —!"

She only had enough time to speak his name, to alert him to the danger, before a force pushed her hard out of the way. It lunged for Sherlock, wrapping a length of material around his neck. As she stumbled, Leanna heard him gasping, weakly calling for John against the force around his neck. When Leanna had gotten her bearings just brief moments later, she threw herself at the intrude, and with a scream of effort, she pulled him off of Sherlock.

She was quick enough to avoid the sharp punches he threw at her, but not enough to stop herself from falling as he swiped her legs right out from under her. As she crashed with another yelp, she hit her head off the foot board of the bed.

There was the impact and a sharp pain, but everything after that was disjointed. Her ears were ringing, the light seemed brighter, and all the colours seemed a bit off and faded to black at the edges of her vision, which were beginning to crowd her eyes. The sound of Sherlock's gasps and coughs, and their attacker's retreat, all sounded far-off and muted, as if through a wall. She tried to sit up, but seemed to have lost contact with her body.

Slowly, after what felt like several minutes, she was able to make sense of her surroundings and pull herself partially off the floor. As her vision cleared, she saw Sherlock kneeling in front of her. He grabbed her arms roughly, pulling her into a seated position.

"Leanna, can you hear me?" His voice was hoarse.

"Yes..."

"Are you alright?"

"Yes." Suddenly, he'd grabbed hold of her face, his fingers tugging her eyes wider.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?"

"I'm checking for a concussion. How many fingers?"

He held his hand in front of her face.

"Four."

"That's five."

"I wasn't counting the thumb."

He shook his head, and she must've hit her head quite hard, because she thought she saw him smile. He stood and pulled her to her feet.

"You'll be fine. Come on."

The two of them made their way out of the flat, Leanna attempting to match Sherlock's brisk pace with her head still spinning slightly. He opened the front door to the flat to see John, standing right in front of it, looking miffed.

"The milk's gone off, and the washing's started to smell. Somebody left here in a hurry three days ago," he told him, trying his best to hide the coarseness of his voice. "Soo Lin Yao. We have to find her."

"How, exactly?"

"We could start with this."

Sherlock had stooped and retrieved a damp piece of paper. On it was a message for Soo Lin from a bloke called Andy, scribbled in black pen. Sherlock unfolded it; it was an envelope from the National Antiquities Museum.

They made their way back down the street, John asking his flatmate if he was getting a cold. Leanna trailed behind, finding it difficult to follow in a straight line.

<><<>><>


	5. Chapter 5

It was dark by the time they left the National Antiquities Museum, and a chill had set in. Leanna buttoned her jacket as she descended the steps with her neighbours. They had met the Andy character who'd left the note that led them here; apparently, Soo Lin had resigned last-minute. Now, she was missing. Clearly it had something to do with the cipher they had found, sprayed on a statue in its traditional yellow paint. Just as in the bank. It had to have been for her, hence her disappearance, hence the assassin who'd attacked her and Sherlock.

"Sherlock!"

A young boy who looked to be in his late adolescence — and entirely a punk — stopped them on the museum steps.

"Look who it is," John muttered. Leanna guessed that this was the boy who'd framed him for the spray paint. Apparently, he'd found something they'd like.

He led them through town, down several blocks, until they reached the kind of neighbourhood she could guess the boy spent most of his time in. The four of them came to a skate park, and kids with bikes and skateboards zipped past. _When I was young, I sat on the sofa and read a book,_ Leanna thought to herself. And, it had saved her several scrapes and broken bones.

"If you want to hide a tree, then the forest would be the best place to do it, wouldn't you say?" Sherlock commented. "People would just walk straight past, not knowing, unable to decipher the message."

"Over there." Leanna pointed to a post. Under several layers of bright paint, there was a smear of yellow. "I see it."

"They've been here. And that's the exact same paint?" Sherlock asked the artist.

"Yeah. I'm sure of it."

"John, if we're going to decipher this code we're gonna need to look for more evidence." The detective began to take off. "John, take Leanna. Follow the train tracks east. I'll go west."

The last they saw of Sherlock, he was pulling a flashlight from his pocket and rounding a corner. John gave Leanna a shrug, and the two of them turned to leave. John turned on his own flashlight. As they left, he looked back over his shoulder at the young man.

"Tuesday!"

Leanna grabbed his arm, turning him 'round and pulling him along with her.

"Seriously," John mused, "he's okay with letting me take the fall for this? Kids these days..."

"Well, you know the elusive artist type. They'll do just about anything in the name of art — hold on," she said, suddenly stopping dead in her tracks, "elusive young artist who'll do anything in the name of art, friend of Sherlock Holmes..."

"Yeah?"

"You don't think..."

"What?"

"You don't think Sherlock actually managed to track down _him_?"

John stared the way the came, his look shifting between looks of doubt, confusion, and contemplation. 

"No, it can't be. No one's seen him."

"This is Sherlock we're talking about."

They stood in absolute, baffled silence. Leanna broke it with a laugh, clapping John on the back.

"You know, if it were me, I'd go to court for Banksy."

She walked off ahead of him, leaving John to his thoughts.

<><<>><>

The two neighbours walked down the tracks on a calm night. The sky was clear. The air was crisp. The only sounds were that of the crunching gravel underfoot, and a train passing in the distance. Leanna ran a hand through her hair.

"Are you alright?" John broke the silence. Leanna looked over in surprise.

"Yes, of course I am. Just a bit of a headache."

She was starting to feel the effects of two hard whacks to the head in one day.

"Does it have anything to do with a certain someone losing you both your jobs?" he asked. Leanna laughed. "You know, I wouldn't blame you for hating him."

"Yeah, but I don't. He's rude, arrogant, and a complete idiot," John laughed at this, "but there's a human being in there, somewhere. Sherlock Holmes is a great man, and I know he could be a good one, too, someday. With the right push."

She looked to John. He chuckled beside her, and she watched him shake his head.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"No, what?"

"You're head-over-heels."

"What? No! Of course not! Don't be ridiculous." She shoved him. "I mean, he's brilliant, and good on his feet, and actually maybe just a little... _attractive_ … but no. Absolutely not. Never ever."

"Whatever you say."

He laughed, and Leanna rolled her eyes. Suddenly, she noticed a flash of something on the tracks; droplets of yellow were splattered on the ground, highlighted by John's flashlight. She grabbed his arm.

"John, look."

They were both looking down, now, as the drops of paint became thicker. The light flashed off a brick slab of wall as they passed by, the streaks of yellow glaring off it. Leanna's jaw went slack; there were about a dozen ciphers. They'd just hit the jackpot.

"We've got to find Sherlock," John stated. He turned on a dime and took off running from the direction they'd come.

"Wait!" Leanna called to him. "Your mobile, take a photograph."

John nodded, his mobile beeping as he captured the image. Then, the two of them turned tail and jogged down the tracks, westward, to Sherlock's territory. Beside her, she heard John give a frustrated sigh as he jammed his mobile back into his pocket.

"He's still not answering."

"Then we'll have to find him all the sooner. Look —"

A dark figure, tall and slender, hovered in the darkness ahead of them; if it weren't for his flashlight illuminating his silhouette, they may not have seen him.

"Answer your phone! I've been calling you!" John called to him, prompting Sherlock to turn about. "We found it."

He immediately began to run with them, all three headed back to the clue that could crack the code, and the case. The journey back did not feel quite so long as the one they'd taken to find Sherlock, and Leanna could see the wall come into view. She felt a rush of excitement as they approached it, and then a great sense of deflation as they faced it — blank.

"It's been painted over." John seemed just as crestfallen as Leanna felt. "I don't understand — it was here. Ten minutes ago. I saw it, a whole load of graffiti."

"Somebody doesn't want me to see it," Sherlock said.

Suddenly, he'd gotten a hold of his flatmate's head.

"Sherlock, what are you —?"

"Shh! John, concentrate. I need you to concentrate. Close your eyes."

"What? Why? What are you doing?"

Sherlock now had him by his arms, rotating them both in circles. Leanna wasn't sure whether to intervene of leave this one be. She ended up just standing there, baffled.

"I need to maximize your visual memory. Try to picture what you saw. Can you picture it?"

"Yeah..."

"Can you remember it?"

"Yes, definitely."

"How much can you remember it? Because the average human memory on visual matters in only sixty-two percent accurate —"

"Yeah, well, don't worry, I remember all of it."

"Really?"

Leanna almost couldn't help but give a snort of laughter. In that one word, Sherlock had managed to show off every ounce of his own arrogance and ego.

"Yeah. Well, at least I would if I could get to my pockets. Leanna had me take a photograph." John spoke defensively, and Sherlock stumbled back away as he was pushed off. He retrieved his mobile, and it beeped as he pulled up the picture. Sherlock stared at it in almost utter disbelief.

"Photograph. That was... quite clever," Sherlock said, begrudgingly. Leanna would take it anyway.

"Not really. But, I do think you underestimate people's resourcefulness."

As another train passed nearby, John turned to head back where they'd come from. Leanna followed, leaving Sherlock Holmes standing on the tracks and gaping at the mobile.

<><<>><>


	6. Chapter 6

Leanna stood in the dimly lit kitchen of 221b Baker Street, pouring boiling water into a teapot. But, aside from the sloshing of water and the traffic below, everything was silent. Sherlock stood at the cold fireplace, above which he had posted all his pictures, all his clues, all his leads. John was at the desk, slumped over more notes, his consciousness steadily slipping away.

"Always in pairs, John, look."

Sherlock was the first to make a sound in hours. Not that Leanna had minded the quiet. She heard John grumble as she placed three teacups on a tray.

"I need to sleep..." he muttered.

"Why did he paint it so near the tracks?"

"Just twenty minutes..."

"Well," Leanna replied as she stepped out of the kitchen with the tea tray, "thousands of people pass by there everyday. A message, maybe, to those who can read it?"

She shrugged as she sat across from John, knowing Sherlock likely had an entirely different and far more accurate theory. She handed John a cup, pouring the tea, smiling at the grateful look he gave her.

"Of course," Sherlock breathed.

"What, really?" Leanna looked at him, his back to her — she couldn't have just said something brilliant, could she have?

"Of course," he repeated, "he wants information. He's trying to communicate with his people in the underground; whatever was stolen, he wants it back. But, we can't crack the code without Soo Lin Yao."

Suddenly, the detective began ripping down the photographs of the ciphers, immediately bursting with energy and sociopathic intensity.

"Oh, good," John said, groggy and sarcastic. He begrudgingly heaved himself out of his chair.

Leanna called after him. "But, Sherlock, the time! The museum is closed! And the tea —"

She sighed as the front door slammed shut. She stood from her own chair, and, retrieving her coat, hurried after them.

"— will get cold. Just once, I'd like to finish a hot cup of tea."

She ran down the street, rejoining her neighbours. The three of them walked briskly through the late chill and London night-life, returning to the National Antiquities Museum; the place that shrouded the secret of the key to cracking the cipher, Soo Lin Yao. And, it came into view ahead of them, the grand white pillars illuminated in florescent blue light. As they neared it, Leanna could see a figure trodding down the steps, head ducked and fists jammed into pockets.

"Andy!" Sherlock called. The boy's head jerked up.

"Mr. Holmes, what are you —?"

"We need back in."

"What? Why?"

"It's about the case. It is of the utmost urgency."

"I'm not really supposed to —"

"It's about Soo Lin," Leanna cut in. 

Instantly, his face softened and he looked between the three of them.

"Well... alright, fine. Just don't touch anything, or it'll be my neck on the line. And only for a few minutes."

"Why?" Sherlock asked, looking him over in the way only he could. "It's not like you've got plans tonight."

"Sherlock!" Leanna whisper-yelled at the detective. He just gave her a blank stare.

Andy brought them up the stairs, glancing over his shoulder as he unlocked the doors for them. He barely had enough time to disable the alarm before Sherlock was off, headed back to Soo Lin Yao's exhibit. They filled Andy in on the situation — the murders, the Hangzhou, the ciphers, and the danger Soo Lin was in.

"Look, I've tried everywhere; friends, colleagues. I don't know where she's gone. I mean, she could be a thousand miles away."

And with this, Leanna's eyes flicked between him and Sherlock, who was analyzing the room. Then, she saw his eyes settle on something. Now, her eyes were solely on Sherlock.

"What are you looking at?" 

John had noticed, as well, and turned about.

"Tell me about these teapots," Sherlock requested. They were Soo Lin's teapots, and if something about them had caught Sherlock's limited attention, then Leanna knew they must be important. She followed the others as they encircled the case, folding her arms across her chest and looking a them closely.

"The pots were her obsession," Andy began. "They need urgent work. If they dry out, then the clay can start to crumble. Apparently you have to just keep making tea in them."

"Earlier, only one of these pots was shining. Now, there are two," Sherlock observed.

"Of course..." Leanna whispered. She thought over what he'd said, and what Andy had said before. "They were her obsession, her life's work. She couldn't leave them unfinished."

"She's here. Somewhere in the museum. She didn't run away, she never left. We've got to find her." Sherlock turned to Andy. "Where might she be?"

"In the back, where she does her work. Or down in storage, where she keeps her pots."

"Take John. Go to the storage. I need to examine her workspace."

Andy ushered John toward an exit while Sherlock turned the opposite way, his trenchcoat trailing behind him. Leanna turned after John, knowing better than to distract the detective.

"Leanna,"

The sound of her name stopped her dead in her tracks, Sherlock's baritone voice echoing broadly through the room.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"To her workspace, like you said —" 

He cut her off. "I never said that."

"You always send me with John."

"And now I'm bringing you with me."

She stared at him in astonishment — she thought she heard John give an amazed scoff. Sherlock's impatience was obvious.

"Are you coming or not?"

She scurried after him as he disappeared around the corner, catching up to him and easily matching his pace. She followed him back down the lesser-traveled corridors, moving quickly. She couldn't tell if Sherlock was deliberately trying to out-walk her. She also couldn't tell why he'd opted for her company, pondering this while they walked.

_He probably trusts John to search the storage, and he just wants to keep an eye on me._

"You sent John because you wanted his eye in storage, is that it?" she asked.

"Something like that," he replied, his gaze straight ahead. Leanna held back a sarcastic retort, biting her lip.

"You know, this workspace we're investigating might need a new occupant, soon. Perhaps I could apply."

"Soo Lin Yao has a long career ahead of her yet. Unless you're suggesting I won't crack the case. Which I will, Leanna."

"Well, there's another job you've lost me," she said, feigning exasperation.

"You're not _still_ upset about that?"

"Three jobs in three days? No. Why would I possibly be upset about that? It's only money; I just won't buy groceries, or pay rent."

"Shh."

He silenced her, reaching out his arm to stop her in place. Ahead of them was the door to the work area, and it was just slightly ajar. She looked up at Sherlock, who looked back down at her, his resonant voice hushed.

"She's here."

They crept forward, the detective keeping Leanna a few paces behind him as he reached out a gloved hand, pushing open the door. He slipped inside, holding the door for her to follow. Past the door was pitch black and deafeningly silent, except for the glow of one lamp in the distance and the soft sound of sloshing water. Through the dark silhouettes, Leanna could just make out the form of a woman, a young woman, built slightly, with a curtain of black hair hiding her face. Sherlock silently bid Leanna to stay put, while he slowly approached the figure.

"Fancy a biscuit with that?"

The woman gasped and jumped, whipping around to face the detective. The teapot tumbled from her hands. With his instant reflexes, Sherlock stooped and caught it before it could shatter on the floor.

"Centuries old — don't want to break that."

He handed it back to the frightened girl. The lights were flicked on, suddenly, as John appeared in the open door.

"Hello," Sherlock introduced them.

He assured her that she had nothing to fear from them; they were here to help. Hesitantly, Soo Lin invited the three of them to sit. Now in the light, Leanna got her first good look at the girl they'd been trying so hard to find — this was Soo Lin Yao.

She was young, no older than Leanna herself, and had a demure air about her. She was also beautiful, with petal-soft skin, and delicate features; full lips, elegant lines of her eye, all framed by lush black hair.

"You saw the cipher," Soo Lin said, finally, "then you know he's coming for me."

"You've been clever to avoid him so far," Sherlock said. It was true; Soo Lin Yao must be a very clever woman indeed. And somehow, Leanna thought, she must know _how_ to avoid whoever _he_ was. She must have known _him_.

"It's only a matter of time. I know he will find me."

"Not if Sherlock can find him first," Leanna told her, trying to instill hope in the poor young woman.

"Who is he? Have you met him before?" Sherlock asked, looking at her intently. She gave a small nod, averting her gaze.

"When I was a girl," she began, "we met in China. I recognize his... signature."

"The cipher."

"Only he would do this. Zhi Zhu." The name she uttered seemed to send shudders through her body.

"Zhi Zhu?" John repeated.

"The Spider," Sherlock translated.

"Small, strong, athletic... the killer who climbs," Leanna muttered. Everything Sherlock had deduced about him suddenly flooded her mind, all connecting like pieces of a puzzle - a puzzle which now was almost complete. Soo Lin propped her right ankle on her opposite knee, her fingers unlacing her shoe. She pulled it down her foot to reveal a symbol, tattooed in black on the bottom of her heel. It was a circle, with what looked to Leanna like a flower in the centre.

"So you know this mark?" she asked.

"Yes," Sherlock answered, unusually quiet. Both Leanna and John looked to him with curiosity. "It's the mark of a Tong. Ancient crime syndicate, based in China."

Leanna looked at the woman before her; she did not seem like the kind of person who would be involved in such things. She seemed kind, and good.

"Every foot soldier bears the mark. Everyone who hauls for them," she explained. Leanna could read the shame on her face like a book.

"Hauls... you mean you were a smuggler?" John asked.

"Like Van Coon, and Lukis," Leanna said, folding her arms across her chest. Soo Lin put her shoe back on, continuing her story.

"I was fifteen. My parents were dead. I had no livelihood, no way of surviving day-to-day, except to work the the bosses."

"Who are they?" Sherlock asked.

"They are called the Black Lotus."

Leanna realized that a lotus must have been the flower tattooed on her foot — a black lotus.

"By the time I was sixteen, I was taking thousands of pounds worth of drugs across the boarder into Hong Kong. But I managed to leave that life behind me."

Her distress was beginning to show; the horrors of her past which still haunted her present, the grief from the things she'd done, the desperation to atone for them. Leanna saw it all.

"I came to England, they gave me a job here. Everything was good. New life."

"And then he came looking for you," Sherlock said. 

Soo Lin swallowed hard. "Yes. I had hoped after five years they would have forgotten me. But they never really let you leave. A small community like ours..." the tears pricked her eyes, "they are never very far away."

She placed her hands on her cheeks, wiping away the moisture there.

"So, you knew him well when you were living back in China?" John asked, connecting dots.

Soon Lin's face was grave. "Oh, yes. He's my brother."

Leanna connected dots of her own, looking to Sherlock. "The second child in the photograph. The little boy."

Soo Lin nodded. "Two orphans, we had no choice; we could work for the Black Lotus, or starve in the streets. He came to my flat and asked me to help him track down something that was stolen. I refused to help. I turned my brother away. He said I had betrayed him. The next day, I came to work and the cipher was waiting."

And now, on the subject of ciphers, Sherlock removed from his long coat the photographs of the message by the train tracks. He spread them in front of Soo Lin on the table.

"Can you decipher these?"

"These are numbers..."

"Yes, I know."

"Here, the line across the man's eyes, it's the Chinese number one."

"And this one is fifteen," Sherlock pointed, "but what's the code?"

"All the smugglers know it. It's based upon a book —"

Suddenly, there was a loud _clang_ as the door slammed shut and the lights turned off, plunging the four of them into darkness. Through the black, Leanna could see Sherlock stand, his head whipping around, now on full alert. Soo Lin spoke softly, her voice dense with fear.

"He's here. Zhi Zhu... he's found me."

"No, no Sherlock," John began as the detective made a beeline for the door. "Sherlock, wait!"

He ushered the two women behind the desk, the three of them huddled together. Leanna's heart raced in the silence, the only sound through the darkness their shallow breathing. Then, there was another sound in the distance. Gunshots. Leanna's heart stopped, and she grabbed a hold of John's hand involuntarily.

"Sherlock..." she breathed. She looked over to John.

"I have to go and help him," he said. John stood, and Leanna followed with a sharp nod.

"I'll stay here with Soo Lin. Do the best I can to protect her."

'Bolt the door after me."

"But," she began, "you won't be able to get back in."

"And neither will the killer."

Leanna nodded again, this time less definitively, and John ran out. She closed the door behind him, bolted it shut and drew in a breath. She hurried back to Soo Lin; she was huddled on the floor, pen in hand, marking up the photographs. The woman looked up to her as she sat back down next to where she worked.

"You should go," she whispered. "It's me he wants. You shouldn't stay here —"

"Hey," Leanna cut her off, "I'm not going anywhere."

"It's not safe —"

"You don't have to face him alone."

Leanna slipped her hand into Soo Lin's with a comforting squeeze. This seemed to relieve her, however slightly. Then, she continued scribbling.

There were more gunshots in the distance, and Leanna breathed a silent prayer. All the while, Soo Lin worked. There were several tense minutes that seemed to last hours. Then, the shots ceased. For a single moment, relief flooded Leanna. Then horror; did that mean he'd gotten Sherlock out of his way? The thought made her heart lurch into her throat. What she did know, though, was that he'd be headed to find Soo Lin, next.

Leanna felt Soo Lin stand up beside her. She lifted herself so that she was peering over the desk.

"Soo Lin, what are you doing?" Leanna hissed. "Get back down!"

She ignored her, and Leanna followed suit, standing, looking left to right. Her heart raced faster than ever.

"We should get to somewhere more secure," Leanna whispered.

Soo Lin turned around, ever so slowly; she seemed to look right past Leanna. She spoke ever so quietly. 

"Leanna, thank you."

Leanna knew something was wrong.

"What —"

<><<>><>


	7. Chapter 7

Dark and murky, like sinking deep into a bog. Hazy. The feeling of nothing; the mind, separate from the body. Weightless and drifting. Far above, a small bright light. A low, resounding sound, resonating through the world. It was like a blanket, warm and soft and deep. A name, beckoning.

"Leanna..."

Everything became a bit more solid. Weight gradually returned, and the floor beneath; it was hard and cold. Feeling returned to limbs — arms, fingers.

"Leanna."

Shapes took form through the darkness, hovering close above her. The light expanded and became more prominent. Her eyes flinched against it as everything began to focus.

The image of Sherlock Holmes came into view, shining his flashlight in her eyes as he pried them open. Her voice came out in a breathless whisper as she fought to inflate her lungs.

"Sherlock..."

"Hush and hold still. You've taken a bad blow to the head."

Her head and body slowly merged as he told her this, everything beginning to fall back in place. Then, she remembered.

"Soo Lin —"

With a gasp she sat bolt upright, her last memories coming back to her. This was a bad idea; if she hadn't felt the pain in her head before, she felt it now. It came back with a wham, making her instantly weak. Her vision faded quickly to black again. She felt herself slump over, Sherlock's steady form holding her.

"I told you to hold still. Do you not listen?"

"Soo Lin, she's —" she struggled to speak.

"Dead."

Her vision began clearing again, and Leanna tilted her head to see the body of the young woman sprawled out on the floor. Her face was turned away from them, and her dark hair billowed out under her.

"Oh god..." 

Her stomach knotted. She feared for a moment that she might be sick on Sherlock's coat.

"Leanna, you have to calm down," Sherlock began, but she paid him no heed.

"I was supposed to protect her. I stayed to... to..." She felt herself growing fainter. "Oh, god... this is all my fault..."

"Don't be ridiculous," Sherlock scolded as he held her fast on the floor. "There was nothing you could have done."

Leanna closed her eyes, breathing deeply, his words echoing in her head. Slowly, as she felt her strength returning to her, she fumbled through her pockets.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked.

"We've got to call it in —"

"I've already done that," John called as he approached them, holding up his mobile. "Police are on their way. And an ambulance."

"No, no need," she responded, sitting upright on her own, "I'm alright."

John's doctor instincts took over. "Leanna, you have a head injury. You were unconscious for at least five minutes. You need a doctor, and a head scan, and observation —"

"Really, John, I'm fine. I promise." She afforded him a weak smile. It seemed to be just enough to appease him.

"Are you sure?" Sherlock asked. 

Leanna nodded, trying not to flinch at the pain this caused. Sherlock then stood, reaching down to pull her to her feet. He steadied her with his hands on his shoulders, staying close by until the others arrived.

<><<>><>

Leanna sat on the cluttered desk of D.I. Dimmock, exchanging glances between her neighbours as the the three of them stood in wait; well, Leanna sat, avoiding the harsh lights that intensified the headache. 

Across the room, the man of the hour headed their way, nose buried in a file, discussing it in some serious manner with a young man to his left who was clearly out of his depth. Dimmock dismissed him when he looked up, spotting the world's only Consulting Detective and crew around his desk.

"This had better be good, Sherlock," he sighed and dropped the file on a desk.

"It is," he responded with his usual air of arrogance. "Our assassin has struck again."

"You're not still on about that, are you?" Dimmock did not try to hide his annoyance — clearly he had better things to do. John jumped to his defense.

"How many murders is it going to take before you start believing that this maniac's out there?" Dimmock ignored him, muttering under his breath and pushing past. "A young girl was gunned down tonight — that's three victims in three days. And just take a look at the state of Leanna! You're supposed to be finding them."

Sherlock interrupted him. "Brian Lukis and Eddy Van Coon were working for a gang of international smugglers, a gang called the Black Lotus, operating here in London, right under your nose.

"Can you prove that?"

D.I. Dimmock looked up at the Consulting Detective, and it was obvious he didn't think Sherlock could. Leanna might even go so far as to say he didn't want him to. She watched Sherlock straighten, and even as she stared at his back she could imagine the smirk across his face — Sherlock Holmes could always prove it.

"John, take Leanna back to the flat," Sherlock instructed, "and Detective Inspector, if you'd so kindly come with me..."

"Well, I want to go with you," Leanna protested.

"No."

Without another word, the detective popped the collar of his coat and strode in the direction of the door. Dimmock scrambled after him, futilely demanding where they were going.

"Well," said John, "I guess that's that."

Leanna slid off the desk, and all the way down to the street and for the entire cab-ride home, she could feel John's careful doctor's eye on her. She tried her best not to wince at the streetlights, or give away the underlying feeling of nausea. As badly as she felt for being left behind, she also badly wanted to lie down.

<><<>><>

The clanging from the kitchen was nearly enough to turn Leanna's battered brain to mush. She could have been resting peacefully on her bed, but the doctor had insisted she stay nearby. So, she'd settled for curling up in Sherlock's chair. 

"Tea?" called her neighbour amidst the clamour.

"No," she responded, muffled by the pillow squashed over her head.

When he returned, he placed a cup of tea on the low table in front of her, anyway. He'd also brought a simple glass of water and a couple of ambiguous pills.

"Thank you, John, but I'm fine."

"Doctor's orders."

His expression was both sympathetic and humorous. Shaking her head — gently, as not to aggravate the throbbing — Leanna downed the pills. John sat back with a look that was a little too pleased with himself.

"So, you don't remember anything?"

"No." She took a small sip of tea. "He must've knocked me before I had a chance to see him."

There was a brief pause, a silence that encroached in which they both took intermittent sips of tea.

"How's the job search going?" Leanna asked eventually.

"It's... over, actually. I've found one."

"Really? Why didn't you say?" She smiled wide.

"Suppose, what with everything, it just slipped my mind."

"Well, congratulations." They cheered their teacups. "What's the job?"

"Um, locum work."

"The great Dr. Watson, war hero, the locum," she teased.

"I'm not a hero," he responded sheepishly.

Leanna smiled. "Of course you are."

"Anyway, it'll be a welcome change of pace, I think. And what about you? Any luck?"

"Unfortunately not. Maybe you could see if they have a secretarial position, or something."

"I'll put in a good word for you."

"Just don't tell Sherlock."

They both laughed.

Soon after, there was a bang and a series of clunks that heralded the arrival of Sherlock Holmes. He breezed in, slipping off his gloves, already halfway through a thought.

"Not just a criminal organization; it's a cult." He hung up his coat. "Brother was corrupted by one of its leaders, Shan. General Shan." He tucked his scarf away in the tweed depths.

"We're still no closer to finding him," John reminded him.

"Wrong," Sherlock stated, finally looking in their general direction. "We've got almost all we need to know. She gave us most of the missing pieces."

Leanna was nagged again by the sense of guilt. Perhaps if she'd paid better attention, perhaps if she'd been quicker, then Soo Lin might still be alive and their case closed.

Sherlock rumbled on. "Why did he need _her_ expertise?"

"Because she worked at the museum," John answered, "an expert in antiquities."

"Exactly. Valuable antiquities, John; ancient Chinese relics, purchased on the black market."

"And the Black Lotus is selling them," John concluded.

With a fleeting expression of curiosity, Sherlock opened his laptop. He began to search up _Asian works of art_ — jewelry, furniture, silverware, anything and everything from teaspoons to doorknobs, to priceless paintings. Though, she didn't understand why he insisted on using _Quest Search_ instead of Google like a normal person. John looked through Lukis's diary and Van Coon's schedule.

"... Arrived from China four days ago," the detective muttered, eyeing a vase, "anonymous. Two undiscovered treasures from the East, one in Lukis's suitcase and one in Van Coon's. Here's another one, arrived from China a month ago. Chinese ceramic statue. Sold, four hundred thousand. A month before that, a Chinese painting for half a million. And all of them from an anonymous source."

"Every single auction coincides with either Lukis or Van Coon travelling to China."

And one of them stole something, just like we discussed earlier," Leanna added. "That's why Zhi Zhu's come."

"Yoo hoo!"

Suddenly, their momentum was brought to a stand-still as Mrs. Hudson knocked on their open door, greeting them in a sing-song voice. They all turned to look at her.

"Sorry to interrupt, dears, but are we collecting for charity?"

"What?" Leanna asked. She wasn't sure if it was her head, but she was clueless. 

"A young man's outside with crates full of books."

"Sherlock," Leanna began, but he'd already dashed out the door. She and John exchanged a glance, communicating something along the lines of ' _what has he gotten us into, now?'_

Within ten minutes, the flat was piled high with boxes upon boxes, all heaping with books. By now, John's meds had kicked in, and Leanna stood in anticipation.

"The numbers are references to books, to specific pages and specific words," Sherlock explained.

"So, fifteen and one would mean it's the first word on page fifteen?" Leanna asked.

"The message will depend on the book. That's the cunning of the book code."

"So, it'll have to be one that they both own, Brian Lukis and Eddy Van Coon," John said.

"Yes."

The three of them turned about the room, eyeing the boxes and crates labeled with either of their respective owners.

"Okay, good, this shouldn't take long, now, should it?" John muttered in obvious self-denial. Suddenly, Leanna's headache began to return.

In sync, the three of them moved, and suddenly, books books books. Poor John was designated pen-guy, charged with the tedious task of marking it all down. God only knew Sherlock wouldn't do it, and Leanna pulled a sympathy card what with her head. So, Leanna and Sherlock worked together, he on Van Coon and she on Lukis, collaborating on match-making. 

Leanna had never believed she could so detest a book, or fifty.

<><<>><>


	8. Chapter 8

The first thing she was aware of was the book whose pages were sticking to her face as she lifted her head. The second was Sherlock.

"Where's John?" She rubbed her eyes, coming awake on Sherlock's sofa.

"Something about work."

"God, it's _light..._ has it been two hours already?"

"It would seem so," Sherlock answered. He took her face in his hands with light fingers, looking into her eyes.

"Leanna, where are you, now?"

She sighed, "Sherlock, this really isn't necessary..."

"Answer the question."

"221B Baker Street, London, Europe, the planet Earth —"

"You're fine," Sherlock affirmed, annoyed. He stood and walked back over to the heaps of books.

"Any luck?" she called after him. She only realized now that she'd been covered with a blanket. She was sure she hadn't fallen asleep like that.

"No," he mused. "It would have to be a book everyone owned. Bible? Dictionary?" He pulled both off his own bookshelf.

"No," Leanna said, "both have too many versions, editions..."

Sherlock tossed the books down in front of him. He tousled his dark hair in frustration. Leanna imagined, fleetingly, the wonder it might be to touch that hair. Without another thought to it, she stood slowly to refill the kettle. 

A few hours later, and another dose of Ibuprofen, John came slumping up the stairs. Leanna greeted him with a wide smile.

"John, how was it?"

"Good. It was good."

"I need to get some air. We're going out tonight," Sherlock stated — or more, he ordered — paying no heed to the momentous occasion of his first day at a civilian job.

"Actually, I've got a date tonight."

"What?" both his flatmate and his neighbour asked together.

Leanna teased. "With whom? Is she pretty?"

"Woman from work. And yeah, I think she is." They shared a smile. Sherlock interrupted.

"What are you doing that for?"

John furrowed his brow.

"You know, when two people who like each other go out and have fun?"

"That's what I was suggesting." Sherlock was oblivious as always.

"No, it wasn't. At least, I hope not."

"Where are you taking her?"

"Cinema."

An appropriate follow-up question would have been which film they'd see. 

"Dull. Boring. Predictable." 

He paced about. Then, he walked up to John and handed him an old tattered pamphlet. Leanna craned her neck to get a glimpse of it. 

"Why don't you try this? In London for one night only."

_The Yellow Dragon Circus._

"Thanks," John replied, laughing tensely, "but I don't come to you for dating advice."

John left to change and freshen up. Left alone again, Leanna eyed the detective suspiciously. She watched as he observed the books.

"You're taking me with you," she stated, breaking the silence but barely breaking his concentration.

"Hm?"

"Chinese circus, in London for one night only, and you expect me to believe you had that pamphlet handy on you by coincidence?"

"What are you getting at?"

"You want to go. Scope it out, sniff up some leads. You're date-crashing John."

He turned to her, now, and Leanna thought she saw a surprised sort of look register on his face.

"Well, I'm coming with you."

"Out of the question. You shouldn't be exerting yourself, and I'll have John to help me."

"Sherlock, that's the problem — someone's got to keep you out of his hair. It's his night. And, what of the poor girl?"

Sherlock was silent, looking her over with something between appreciation and annoyance. Leanna stood.

"I'm going to get dressed. Pick me up at six?"

She didn't give him a chance to answer before walking from his flat, leaving only the thud of her shoes on the stairs behind her.

<><<>><>

Her fork clinked against her plate as Leanna ate another chip. Across from her, Sherlock Holmes picked at his risotto. Ever since they'd left 221B, they'd hardly said two words. Leanna sipped her water to wash down the tension.

She set down her water glass pointedly. "Not hungry? Or is it the company that's unpalatable?"

"I don't typically eat while working. Digestion, it slows down the brain."

"So does malnutrition."

He took another bite.

She continued. "What do you expect to find?"

"Dunno. Maybe a lead on our acrobat."

"They'll probably have loads of those. How will you know who?"

"I just will."

Leanna stuffed her fish in her mouth to keep from asking more stupid questions. Another bout of silence sat itself at their table. This was only intruded upon by Angelo.

"Sherlock!" he waddled up and placed his hands on the table — Leanna held her water steady.

"Anything else I can get for you? Some dessert? How 'bout a bottle of wine to make this date more interesting?"

Leanna nearly choked on her dinner. Sherlock spoke up as she was recovering.

"This isn't a date, is this Leanna. I'm working. I'd rather skip the wine, keep a clear head. We'll take the cheque."

"Of course not! Sherlock Holmes and his date never pay and Angelo's!"

Angelo left them. Leanna took a long drink of water; her plate was still half-full, and she almost couldn't help but take it as an indication of her dating skills. She knew she wasn't all that interesting, but this was just embarrassing, even by her standards.

"How's your head?" Sherlock asked. It took her a bit by surprise, since he hadn't been the one to break the silence all evening.

"It's fine. Much better."

"You're sure you're up for this?"

"You're not getting rid of me."

"There could be trouble," he continued, a mischievous gleam in his eye. She returned the look.

"Isn't there always?"

He looked her over, his cold eyes piercing her for ages. The seconds stretched out before them, and Leanna felt as if she was frozen by his gaze; she couldn't move until he permitted it. Commanded it. An unexpected and inexplicable shiver shot down her spine.

"Shall we?"

Sherlock stood immediately, slipping on his coat and straightening his scarf as he walked out the door. She hurried after him. He stood outside in the cool fall evening air, pulling on his gloves. There was something so dignified about the way he did it, she thought. Leanna hailed an approaching cab.

She watched with a smile as its blinker turned on and it pulled over in front of them.

"I'm getting better at that," she stated. "Though, it can't get any worse than my first."

Sherlock _almost_ laughed, and they both got in.

<><<>><>

The décor was slapdash at best, yet still alluring. Although, if the detective was right, an ancient crime ring covering their smuggling tracks wouldn't put too much effort into the trappings. Leanna stuck close to Sherlock.

"At the ticket line," he spotted. She could hear John talking as they approached.

"... No, I don't think so. We only booked two —"

"And then I phoned back and got a couple more. I'm Sherlock."

He offered his hand to the second party of John's evening. Leanna simply mouthed an apology to the pair.

"Hi," the lady responded, clearly taken aback. She shook his hand tentatively. "Sarah."

Leanna grabbed Sherlock's arm and pulled him in the direction of the auditorium.

"I'll try to keep him out from under foot," she called as she led him away. They stopped on the steps.

"Why are we here?" she asked.

Sherlock was exasperated. "Yellow Dragon Circus, in London for one night only. It fits. The Tongs sent an assassin to England. We're looking for a killer who can climb, who can shin up a rope — where else would you find that level of dexterity? Exit visas are scarce in China. They need a pretty good reason to get out of the country."

Leanna made to protest, but he cut her off.

"All I need to do is have a quick look around the place."

"Fine. We'll do that, and I'm going to tell John to take Sarah for a pint."

"I need his help."

"Dammit, that's why _I'm_ here." Leanna took a deep breath. "Look, I know you don't think much of me. But, if you have any kind of respect for John, you'll stay out of his way. He does have a couple of other things on his mind this evening."

"Like what?" he asked, clearly incredulous.

Leanna gazed at him blankly, blinking in equal incredulity.

Sherlock huffed at her stare. "What's so important?"

"Sherlock, he's right in the middle of a date. You're going to make him chase some killer while he's trying to..."

She wanted to be delicate.

"What?"

But Sherlock was ever the idiot.

"While he's trying to hit if off with Sarah!"

"Hey..."

John's voice cut through the bickering. Leanna turned on a dime with a gasp, nearly falling down the stairs. Not that she'd have minded; with the state her brain must be in, one more good knock would surely put her in a coma and save her the embarrassment.

"Ready?" John asked.

The four of them climbed the rest of the stairs to the auditorium. Inside, it was dim, and the old building was musty; Leanna smelled wax and burnt wicks, and noticed the large ring of candles on the floor. Their hazy light illuminated the old dusty air. Beside her, she heard John mutter to Sherlock.

"You said circus. This is not a circus. Look at the size of this crowd. Sherlock, this is... _art._ "

"This is not their day job."

"No, I'm sorry, I forgot. They're not a circus, they're a gang of international smugglers."

Leanna tugged Sherlock away from John.

Suddenly, a soft percussive beat sounded by the candle ring. An Asian woman in traditional regalia stepped into view to the beat of the accelerando. The woman in the red robe and extravagant headdress approached a mysterious object, hidden from the audience beneath a black sheet. She pulled it off with a swell of music Leanna didn't recognize. Then, delicately, she picked up a long ornate arrow. Slowly, she moved it so the crowd could see — all of this was done in complete silence, save for the music. It enhanced the effect.

Once she had loaded the arrow, the woman plucked a single feather from her headpiece. She dropped it onto the pressure plate. With even this most delicate of touches, the arrow was sent flying with impressive force into a wooden board. The crowd gasped. Leanna noticed Sarah give a small laugh; she held out hope for John.

The spectators clapped as a man joined the woman in the circle. He was dressed in armour and a mask. Leanna had the brief thought that a mask would be convenient for a killer.

The man was chained to the board, and Leanna was sure everyone in the room knew where this was going. It didn't take a Sherlock Holmes to put two and two together.

"Classic Chinese escapology act," Sherlock whispered to John and Sarah. Leanna pulled him back again.

The masked man made several dramatized grunting noises as he was locked up.

"Oh please..." Leanna huffed.

"Not impressed?" Sherlock muttered beside her.

"He's really milking it. What a ham. I bet you the chains aren't even real."

"The danger is very real, I assure you."

"Come on... even Houdini went in with the key."

As she watched the spectacle, she didn't see Sherlock glance at her.

The Chinese woman drew a dagger. She split a sack above her head; sand poured out. Leanna watched the ever-emptying bag slowly rise, and a weight descending directly above the pressure plate. Sand accumulated on the ground. The man fought against his restraints, shouting. Leanna saw all of this, her nerves pricking more by the second.

_All for the show,_ she told herself. _He'll make a triumphant escape at the last second. It'll be fine._

But, the weight was only a couple meagre inches from the pressure plate. She tensed — she didn't even realize she was holding her breath.

The weight was touching the plate. Then, the performer fell forward on the ground. The _very_ last second.

"I thought there was nothing to fear," Sherlock remarked as the crowd clapped. Leanna only just noticed then how tightly she was gripping his arm.

"What can I say? It was a good show."

Suddenly, he pulled himself from her grasp. Under the guise of the applause, he slipped away. She looked back to John; he and Sarah seemed to be enjoying themselves, oblivious. _Good, let them enjoy themselves,_ Leanna thought, and she slipped away after the detective. She met up with him in the dressing area.

Sherlock was nosing around the odds and ends when Leanna slipped past the curtain. She was beginning to second-guess herself — what did she expect to do, aside from get in his way?

Leanna stayed back a ways, keeping her distance from the detective while trying to be useful with her eyes. Maybe she could see something useful. Maybe she could ask the right questions.

_"Ladies and gentlemen, from the distant moonlit shores of the Yangtze river,"_

The stage lights hit Leanna's eyes as she peered out from behind the heavy curtain.

_"We present for your pleasure the deadly Chinese bird spider."_

There was a swell of drums. All of a sudden, a masked man came tumbling down a long length of aerial silks.

"Sherlock..."

The tall man was already hovering next to her. Leanna continued.

"Bird _spider_."

"Zhi Zhu," he confirmed.

"The killer who can climb."

"Well, well..." Sherlock rumbled.

Suddenly, they heard a door opening. Sherlock's hand wrapped strongly around her arm, yanking her not-so-gently behind a rack of costumes. He was right on her heels, quickly rearranging the clothing to hide them.

Leanna raised herself up a bit, trying to see past the garments, just as Sherlock was doing. He pushed her down again. Silently, Leanna rolled her eyes. Then, she spotted something — a flash of yellow in a dark duffle bag.

She tapped on Sherlock's leg, but he ignored her. Leanna heard the sound of someone walking around, and tried to imagine where they were since she couldn't see. She tugged on his pants. Sherlock swatted her hand off.

"Sherlock," she whispered, so quietly that even she could hardly hear it. Keeping his eyes glued to whoever was in the room with him, he put his fingers on his lips.

Leanna stifled a growl.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Sherlock slowly arose from their hiding place. Leanna grabbed hold of his coat before he could sweep away again.

"Sherlock —"

He pushed her off of himself.

"Not now, Leanna."

"My god, would you just look at this for one moment?"

She forcibly grabbed him again and pulled him back. Standing, herself, she pointed to the bag in question. All of a sudden, Sherlock's interest visibly piqued. Leanna crossed her arms in self-satisfaction.

She watched him take out one of the cans of yellow spray paint. He turned it over and inspected it, but not for long.

"Found you."

Leanna smirked at the deep sing-song quality to this phrase. He stood again and walked past her, and she followed him over to the vanity. Sherlock sprayed a single yellow line, straight across, just like the cipher. A smile spread across Leanna's lips.

Just then, they were interrupted by a creaking. Leanna turned around just in time to be hit hard across the chest by a large strong arm. She was sent crashing into the costume rack she had been hiding behind only moments before.

She rightened herself as quickly as she could, but the man was already on Sherlock. He was attacking him with a prop sword — at least Leanna hoped it was a prop — and Sherlock defended himself with nothing but the spray paint can.

Sherlock actually managed to disarm him, and nail a good shot of paint right in the eyes. This distracted him enough for Sherlock to knock him onto his back.

The assailant immediately sprung back up, but not before Leanna had leapt between the two men. While he was still crouched low, she thrust out her leg with all the force she could muster. She sent mask-man sprawling. 

He didn't stay down for long. He reared right back around and hurtled for Leanna. Just as she was bracing herself for the hard impact, Sherlock had grabbed her and shoved her aside. His fist made quick contact with the man's mask.

Their attacker recovered quickly. He jumped and spun in the air, landing a butterfly kick square in Sherlock's chest. Leanna gasped as the detective went flying through the heavy curtains.

She heard the crowds gasp. Leanna followed the masked man as he went after Sherlock — he had his sword again. She saw him raise it above his head.

Not thinking, she hurled herself onto his back with a furious howl. She heard the man shout in surprise, and she held on tight as he whirled around, trying to shake her.

He had to drop his sword to reach around and grab her with both large hands. He tore her from him, tossing her like a doll onto the ground. Before Leanna had a chance to scramble out of the way, he dealt her a swift kick to the head. 

Everything got very quiet all of a sudden, save for a very sharp ringing in her ears. She gasped deeply, staring at a warping ceiling. She tried to blink the stars out of her eyes.

Her body felt heavy as she moved on the floor, and she was dizzy as she tried to pull herself up. But, even in her current state — unfocused and only half sitting — she still noticed something. The masked man's sword, laying abandoned on the floor where he'd dropped it.

She fumbled with her fingers as she tried to grab hold of it. Forcing the room the stay still, Leanna spotted the man, just as he fought John off.

She staggered to her feet. Drawing a deep breath, she moved forward. She was hardly aware of her body as she lifted the sword above her head. Just as she'd seen him do. She brought it down as hard and as fast as she possibly could.

Instantly, he collapsed in front of her.

"Doesn't feel so great, does it?"

She dropped the sword.

Suddenly, she felt a pair of hands on her back — she hadn't even noticed she was swaying.

"Leanna," she heard John say beside her, "are you alright?"

She laughed a small, airy laugh as she leaned into John.

"Never better."

"That was stupid," Sherlock cut in. 

"Oh, great, there's two of you," remarked Leanna as she looked at the wavering figure of the detective. "Bloody excellent. As if I didn't already have a headache."

"You're in no state to be fighting. You shouldn't have interfered. You're already barely tolerable, you don't need to make yourself any more useless."

"You're welcome."

"Come on, let's go."

Sherlock began hurrying out — no doubt the rest of this mob wouldn't be far away. The crowd had all vanished.

She heard John give a heavy sigh of annoyance. His arm slipped around her, and he helped her out of the theatre. By the time the two of them and Sarah had gotten outside, Sherlock was already on his mobile.

"Who are you calling?" John asked.

"Dimmock. Perhaps if he gets here quick enough, he can find some scrap of evidence to pin on the Black Lotus, before they clean the place out. Yes, Detective Inspector Dimmock —"

Leanna didn't hear the conversation. She leaned against John, trying to distinguish between the sounds of the city and the ringing in her head. Sarah hailed them a cab, and helped Leanna into it. Sherlock slid in behind them, hanging up his mobile. It was a tight squeeze with the four of them.

"Where to?" the cabbie asked.

"Scotland Yard."

<><<>><>


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter after an unexpected break — I hope you enjoy!

Scotland Yard was a bust.

Leanna was really beginning to miss Lestrade; this Dimmock character was digging his heels in every step of the way. Granted, Leanna could understand his reluctance, but he needn't be such an ass about it.

So, the four of them had crammed into another taxi that was way to tight and way too hot. This had only made the throbbing in Leanna's head worse. And she had gotten very sleepy, but she couldn't have relaxed without leaning on either Sherlock or Sarah. John she might not have minded, but she doubted that his date would appreciate it.

Now, they all trudged back up into 221b, into the mess of boxes and books, and Sherlock's things. Leanna was just grateful to plop down on the sofa.

"They'll be back in China by tomorrow," John said in a defeated sigh.

Sherlock countered him.

"No, they won't leave without what they came for." He threw his coat and scarf onto a pile of books, maneuvering over to the mantle where all his information was tacked up. "We need to find a hideout. A rendezvous." 

"Are you alright?" asked Sarah, moving toward Leanna. For a moment, she'd forgotten that John's new friend was also a doctor.

"Yeah. Just... you know. John? Do you have any more of those pills?"

She saw him check his watch.

"I can't give you another one for about another hour and a half. Sorry."

"Bugger. Alright, I'm gonna go steal some of Mrs. Hudson's Tylenol."

"Just stay away from those 'herbal soothers.'"

Leanna slouched down the stairs. The low chatter faded behind her, until she finally found herself in blissful silence. That was, until the high voice of her aunt pierced the room. Leanna winced.

"Did you have a good night out?"

Leanna forced a smile as she rounded into the kitchen. She leaned in the doorway.

"It had its moments, though the bar has been set pretty low since I got here."

"Seems like Sherlock's warming up to you."

"What?"

"Didn't you two have dinner?" she asked, painfully suggestive.

"No... well, yes, we ate, but it's not like that."

"Oh, of course it's not, dear."

Judging by her voice, her aunt didn't buy it. Clearly, Martha Hudson was going to drag this one on. Leanna just shook her head. Her eyes squinted against the bright kitchen lights as she walked up to the medicine cabinet.

"Head still bothering you, dear?"

"Just a bit."

"Perhaps you should lie down. Or, are you hungry? I could make you something. Though if it was a Monday I'd have been to the supermarket..."

"Not really hungry. Though, do you have anything to munch?" Leanna opened the next cupboard over. She made a mental note to go to the supermarket, herself, when she took note of the slim pickings. She figured plain crisps and salted nuts wouldn't offend anyone.

She had hoped Mrs. Hudson's 'medicinal' sherry would be sufficiently full, but was disappointed. There was cranberry juice, club soda, and some of her special brandy; _punch it is._

Mrs. Hudson outfitted her with a tray and glasses. Leanna draped a tea towel over the whole thing. She began the hike back upstairs.

Leanna saw Sherlock, rustling through his piles of papers and photographs. Sarah hovered over his shoulder. She was glad this new friend of John's was interested in what they did, but she only hoped that Sherlock would play nice for a few minutes. She slipped in the side entrance to the kitchen, where John was digging through the depths of the cupboards, scrounging for scraps.

"Don't bother," Leanna began — John banged his head off the top of the cupboard — "you're not going to find anything. Honestly, I don't know how you two manage."

She pulled back the tea towel.

"Leanna, you're a saint," John replied, rubbing his head.

Leanna let John bring the tray into the living room, give him his heroic moment. She followed behind. Sarah was still lingered around Sherlock.

"So, these numbers, it's a cipher?" she asked, picking up one of the photos sealed in plastic.

Leanna didn't miss the side-eye Sherlock cast their guest.

"Exactly," replied the detective.

Leanna poured herself a small bit of punch — against John's advisement — and sat on the settee once more.

"And each pair of numbers is a word?"

"How did you know that?"

Judging by the seriousness in Sherlock's tone, Sarah had surprised him. Leanna was surprised, herself, since nothing phased the Great Consulting Detective. 

"Well, two words have already been translated, here."

There was a moment of silence, and Leanna watched both Sherlock and Sarah bend over the photograph.

"John," Sherlock called.

"Hm?"

"John, look at this — Soo Lin, at the museum, she started to translate the code for us. We didn't see it."

He slipped the photo out of the protective plastic evidence bag. He continued.

" _'Nine,''mill.'"_

John peered over Sherlock's shoulder. Leanna was beginning to buzz with interest, and wished the Tylenol would hurry and kick in so she could share in their excitement without inciting a massive headache.

"Does that mean millions?" asked John.

"Nine million quid. For what?"

Sherlock was clearly entering his point-of-no-return phase, when nothing or nobody could deter him. It was both one of his best and his worst qualities; even in the short time she'd known him, Leanna had come to learn this. Suddenly, he was folding up the paper and dashing across the flat to where he'd strewn his coat and scarf.

"We need to know the end of this sentence."

"Where are you going?" John asked.

Leanna thought it would be obvious where he was going. Where else would he be able to find out about ancient Chinese relics?

"To the museum," he answered, "to the restoration room. We must have been staring right at it," Sherlock huffed.

"A–at what?"

"The book, John. The _book_. The key to cracking the cipher. Soo Lin used it to do _this,"_ he waved about the photograph. "Whilst we were running around the gallery, she started to translate the code. It must be on her desk."

"Do you want another set of eyes?" Leanna offered, trying not to sound as tired as she felt.

"Nope, and most definitely not yours."

Then, he was out the door. Leanna would have been offended by his statement, but she was inwardly relieved. 

"Don't worry," she said to Sarah, "for him, that was a good mood."

John continued, "And yes, he _is_ always like this."

"Ah, well," Sarah said with a small smile, "I supposed that's good to know. Better to know what I'm getting into."

Sarah cast a look over to John, that small smile with a sort of teasing eye. Leanna subtly raised her glass to him before taking another sip.

"Well," John began, clearly a little flustered, "I don't supposed you'd fancy a... quiet night in?"

"Yeah, no, absolutely. I mean, well, a quiet night in is just what the doctor ordered."

Her company laughed at her small joke.

"I mean," Sarah continued, "I'd love to go out of an evening and wrestle a few Chinese gangsters, you know, generally. But, a girl can get too much."

It was obvious what an effort Sarah was making. Leanna found it touching.

"Okay," John replied, clearly pleased, "er, shall we get a takeaway?"

"Yeah."

John moved to get it done. Leanna rose slowly from the sofa and walked back to the door.

"Menus are in the second drawer," she told John. "I'll leave you to it."

"Oh, well, you'd be welcome to stay. Right, Sarah?"

"Of course." She smiled. 

"You're far too kind," Leanna smiled back, "but I'll spare you the third wheel, so you can salvage what's left of the night. It was really nice to meet you, Sarah."

"Yeah, likewise."

Once more, she went down the stairs. Hopefully for the last time tonight. She relished the thought of finally laying down and having a good sleep.

"Oh, Leah, dear," her aunt greeted her from the kitchen sink, where she was doing dishes, "how's everything getting on upstairs?"

"Everything is fine. Though, I don't think I'll be going back for that tray until tomorrow."

"So, you think she's a good one, do you?"

Leanna used the water Mrs. Hudson was running from the tap to fill the kettle.

"I think Sarah is a very lovely woman."

She put it on the stove and lit the element.

Leanna sat at the table, resting her head in her hands and closing her eyes as she awaiting boiling.

After half an hour, or maybe two minutes, there was a knock at the door. Leanna wearily lifted her head.

"Would you see who that is, dear? Wet hands, me."

Silently, Leanna rose. As she walked slowly to the door, she heard a thudding from upstairs. John came down.

"Is that for you?" she asked him.

"Ought to be the takeaway." 

Leanna nodded, turning back around to the sound of the whistling kettle.

John opened the door quickly. "Sorry to keep you waiting. How much do you want?"

"Do you have it?"

"What?"

"Do you have the treasure?"

Leanna froze. This exchange wasn't right. She turned back around, slowly approaching the door again.

John was bemused. "I don't understand —"

He was cut off immediately as the man hit him over the head. Leanna couldn't tell with what. Then, he turned to her. Thanks to her recent succession of head injuries, Leanna's reflexes weren't fast enough to evade his attack. She still couldn't tell what the weapon was as he hit her hard.

<><<>><>


End file.
